


Choices

by andrastes_grace



Series: The Railroad [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Gen, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, The Railroad, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrastes_grace/pseuds/andrastes_grace
Summary: Glory was G7-81, once.





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt fic for swindlefingers, who asked for Glory/Dez.
> 
> Whoops.

As the leader of the Railroad Desdemona can’t afford to make deliveries herself.  But with High Rise busy with his new safehouse and Deacon MIA again (and if he’s not dead this time, Dez will kill him herself when he resurfaces) she’s down two of her best agents.  Of the other trained agents, Sapsorrow is too green, Shepard is still injured and Snowflake is out in the Mojave.

Dez makes the pickup at the Old North Church.  There’s a catacomb that runs under it that makes it perfect for moving packages.

There’s two, both women. One has found a gun, the other a baseball bat.  Both of them raise their weapons as she approaches, and their free hands are gripped tightly together, as if they’re scared her presence will tear them apart.  Dez holds her hands up in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture.

The Tourist with them drops the cigarette she’s smoking and grinds it out underfoot.  Her hand rest on the hilt of her sword and there’s a rifle leaning against the wall.

“Did you see any molerats on your way here?” she asks, wary.

“Three of them, and one glowing radroach,” Dez answers, and the Tourist relaxes.

“You took your time,” she says and smiles tiredly at the synths.  “G7, G5.  It’s been fun.  Try to stay out of trouble.”  The two women respond with tense smiles of their own.  They’ve lowered their weapons, but haven’t let them go.  The Tourist leaves.

“My name is Desdemona,” she tells them.  “I’ll get you somewhere safe, and out of the Commonwealth.”

“So we were told,” one of them answers.  Her silver-grey hair is tied back in a braid, and there’s a dusting of freckles on her face. “G7-81,” she tells Dez.

“G5-19,” the other woman says.  There’s fear – an all too common emotion for escaped synths – infusing every part of her – but her gaze when she held the baseball bat had been unbreakable.

“It’s a pleasure to meet both you,” Dez tells them, and means it.  “The safehouse isn’t far.  We can get food, and a change of clothes for you both of you there.”

They’re both wearing outfits that look as though they were pulled off corpses, and probably were.

 

 

The safehouse is a bunker, well-hidden and private, in the yard of what used to be a preacher’s home. It runs on minimal staff.  Dez explains their choices while they eat.  The women exchange uneasy glances with each other when she mentions the mindwipe.

“It’s your choice,” Dez assures them.  “Whatever it is you make, it’s yours.  We’ll never make it for you.”

“Do we have to decide now?” G5 asks.  She picks at the sleeve of her flannel shirt, and she doesn’t meet Dez’s eyes.

“No.  I can give you a few days.  But the longer you stay here, the more danger your in.”

“Whatever it is we chose,” G7 says, her hand resting on G5’s, fingers curling defensively round it, “we’re doing it together.”

“Of course.  Together.” G5’s voice is confident, but it can’t mask her fear.

 

 

Dez stays out of the way while the two discuss their options.  It’s difficult in such a small safehouse.  Mole, the agent who runs it – has plans drawn up to extend the bunker, but that would take time and manpower Dez can’t spare.

She’s asleep at Mole’s desk, and wakes when G5’s voice cuts into her dreams.

“I’m sorry.  I can’t do this.”

Dez’s hand is on her sidearm even before she’s fully awake, but she relaxes when she realises it’s only her guests.

“Of course you can.” G7 sounds pleading, close to tears.

There’s uncertainty in G5’s voice when she replies, “They’re offering us a new start.  We’ll be safe.”

“We don’t need our fucking memories scooped out to be safe.  We can do this.”

“I’m sorry.  I can’t.  I can’t live with all _this_ in my head.   _They_ ,” G5 spites out the word, “have taken so much of me.  This time I’m taking them.  They’ll never be in my head again.”  Her voice is gentle, sad.  “But I’m not asking you to do this with me.”

“No.  We agreed.  We’re doing this together.  So – let’s do this together.”

 

 

The appointment with Amari is set up as soon as possible, although there’s still a few days of waiting around.  There’s still the remains of the preacher’s library in the bunker.  Religious texts of fire and brimstone.  G7 is engrossed by what she finds, anyway.  G5 asks questions – about the Commonwealth and life outside the Institute.

“I want to learn everything I can,” she tells Dez, “while I’m still me.”

 

 

It’s days later, and they’re in Goodneighbour.

“So,” G7 says, “I guess this is it.”

The memory loungers are prepared and Amari is waiting.

“I want you to know,” G5 says, one hand gripping G7’s hand, and the other gently cupping her face.  “That even when I forget you, I’ll always love you.”

“I know,” G7 is smiling because the only alternative is fear.  “You have before.”

They both laugh, a sad sound of joy, and their foreheads press together before G7’s hand goes to the back of G5’s head, drawing her into a kiss.

“Let’s do this,” G7 says – giddy, nervous - when they break apart.

G5 goes first, settling herself into the lounger.  Amari isn’t a comforting woman, but her brisk, professional, manner usually inspires confidence in the synths she helps.  Dez and G7 wait outside, running through a packet of cigarettes together. G7 shouldn’t be so close to Amari’s workroom while the procedure is being carried out.  She and G5 shouldn’t meet again until they’ve both been wiped. But G5 will be asleep when G7 undergoes hers, and Dez lets her stay.  She thinks of Sam.

It’s taking too long and Dez keeps her expression neutral when G7 asks if that’s normal.

“There’s a lot of factors involved,” Dez tells her, as the worry knots in her stomach.

From inside the room there’s a string of curses, followed by Amari saying “Desdemona?  I need you.”

Both women enter, G7 pushing herself in first.  G5 is still in the lounger, eyes closed and chest rising and falling gently.  She could be sleeping, but one look at Amari’s expression tells them she’s not.

 

 

Amari explains the situation.  The procedure failed.  The new memories couldn’t hold, and the old already gone.  It’s rare, but it can happen.  She’d explained that to both of them before they’d started.

“But she’s not dead?” G7 asks.  She’s not crying.

“No,” Amari replies as gently as she can.  “But she will never recover.  I’m sorry.”

G7 takes several deep breaths, and Dez and Amari both pretend not to notice when she wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

“What will happen to her?”

“She will remain like this, unless we choose to – “

“No.”  G7’s response is immediate.  “I can look after her.  Get you whatever you need to keep her alive.”

“You understand that once you undergo your own memory wipe –“

“I’m not,” G7 is holding onto G5’s hand, and looks sadly down at her.  “I’m not going to forget her, or the bastards that drove her to this. I am _never_ going to forget who I’m fighting.”  She lets go of G5’s hand, and stands up, meeting Dez’s eyes.

“I’ve made my choice. I’m joining up with you.  With the Railroad.”

Dez remembers Sam, and her own anger.  

“We’d be happy to have you.”

She extends a hand, and G7 takes it.  Her handshake is as strong as the resolve on her face.


End file.
